Author's Note: Written for "Obedient Combaticons" for the 28 Combaticons meme. Takes place in 1986, some time between "B.O.T." and "Aerial Assault" -- which is admittedly a neat trick considering the order those episodes aired in. In terms of my fics, takes place after "Payback" and "Jealous Combaticons" (see 28 Combaticons in my profile) and before the Generistan Stories ("Fatigue," "Clean Up", "Reunion" and "Shambleau"). References the Combaticons' actions in "Diligence."
All you really need to know though, is that the Combaticons are definitely on Santa's Naughty List.
Days of Peril
Megatron turned and crossed his arms as the Combaticons entered the room, watching the five of them with wary interest. They entered the command center in a wedge formation, Onslaught at the front, followed by the two fliers and with Swindle and the tank bringing up the rear.
Onslaught stopped a respectful distance from Megatron, drawing himself up to his full height. After a brief, almost insolent pause, the rest of the Combaticons followed suit -- clearly at Onslaught's unspoken order. Megatron wasn't sure whether he should scowl at them or laugh. Their thuggishness was childish, laughable. and so very much a part of why he'd summoned them.
"Megatron," Onslaught said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why have you summoned us?"
"I have a mission best suited toward your team's unique talents." Megatron was pleased to see the Combaticons' postures shift from impudent to attentive, almost eager. "And, it will offer you an opportunity to prove yourselves worthy of the trust I've placed in you by allowing you back into my service."
"Thank you, Lord Megatron." Onslaught bowed his head respectfully. "We are eager for this opportunity to serve you. What is the mission?"
Megatron hesitated before turning his back on the Combaticons. True, Bombshell's reconditioning was working, but Megatron hadn't survived for over a hundred thousand vorn as the leader of the Decepticon Empire by turning his back on subordinates. Particularly subordinates who had been as shameless in their betrayals as the Combaticons had been.
At the moment, the Combaticons looked like anything but shameless traitors. They looked anxious, eager; they were clearly hanging on his every word, wanting only to please him. Megatron smirked at them as he turned toward the main viewscreen, tapping a command and calling up an image.
It was, Megatron had learned, called a Christmas tree. He didn't entirely understand its significance, nor did he care to. What he did know was that this particular Christmas tree was a large and shining example of a soft target. And the Combaticons were just the weapon to aim at it.
"Ooh, shiny!" said the smaller flyer. There was a clanking sound as if someone pulled him back into line followed by a buzz of static signifying a private radio conversation. "Well it is!"
"Ignore Vortex, my Lord," Onslaught said. "What is this target?"
"The target is this tree. It is symbolic of a festival the humans celebrate. It is located at a place called Rockefeller Center," Megatron said. "Which is itself located in one of the large urban centers on the eastern coast of the North American continent. Ordinarily, it is of little interest to us; there are no energy producing facilities in the area."
"However," Megatron gestured toward the image on the screen, "in twelve hours, the humans will be celebrating the lighting of this tree. Thousands of them will be present to watch this event."
Onslaught nodded. "And our mission is to disrupt this celebration, my lord?"
Megatron smiled, a genuine approving smile. "Exactly," he said. "I want you to demonstrate to the humans that we can strike them at any time, at any place and that the Autobots cannot protect them should we choose to press the war against them." Megatron chuckled. "If this doesn't convince the humans to stop giving aid to the Autobots, then we will press the attack. This season allows for many such targets of opportunity."
"This is a simple terror attack." Onslaught almost sounded disappointed -- or was he being critical? "Why not send the Stunticons? This is their specialty, as I understand things."
"It is." Megatron frowned. The last thing he needed was yet another pack of sniveling, honor-bound, would-be paladins. "But the Stunticons are better suited to high-speed ground combat in open spaces. Close quarters such as these would hamper their effectiveness and dilute the message I want to send. I chose your team, Onslaught, because of your reputation and your effectiveness in a variety of terrains. If you can't do the work, perhaps it would be better to send you back to Cybertron. Shockwave could use some troops to monitor the second moon's defenses."
"I never said we couldn't do the job, my Lord." Onslaught sounded amused, though still respectful. "I curious as to why you had selected us.. I assure you, we will perform this mission with our usual dedication to duty. Your message will be sent and we will insure that the humans receive it loud and clear. With your permission, my Lord, we will depart."
Megatron nodded, waving a hand toward the doors. "Go," he said. "I've uploaded all the information you should need about the area to the main battle computer. Download it before you leave. And remember, I will be monitoring your progress. Do not disappoint me."
"Yes, Lord Megatron." Onslaught turned on his heel and strode out of the room, the rest of the Combaticons stepping aside to allow him to exit before falling into step behind him. As they were leaving, Megatron could hear them beginning to plan their attack, bickering about angles of approach, preferred techniques and -- to his bemusement -- who would get to keep the bauble at the top of the tree as a souvenir.